


From the Fading Flame to the Bottomless Sea

by KookieTheBard



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Aldia quotes!, Gen, Mostly Dark Souls, Obscure Dark Souls II references!, Sort Of, little Bloodborne, plz read my subtext that relies on your knowledge of DS2 weapons, sort of a crossover, thematic irony!, title gives you an idea, used to build up the themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 20:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12825582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KookieTheBard/pseuds/KookieTheBard
Summary: Devrim rises as an unkindled and is tasked with gathering the risen Lords of Cinder. The memories of his journey as the chosen undead and those it took from him in his time before still haunt him. New friends come and go, but something sticks, a secret buried beneath sludge and dusty covers: something beyond Light and Dark...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok ok, so... I've had this idea in my head for a long time. It still isn't perfect. However, I really like and still believe in the story, mostly the idea at its heart. If you want to see just the main part, that'll be in chapter 9. The rest is mostly thematic and emotional(?) buildup.  
> So yeah. If you read it and like it, feel free to drop a review. Good or bad, let me know! Regardless, thanks for stopping by.

_What drives you so, to overcome this supposed curse?_  

When Devrim woke up after being dead for centuries, he wasn’t sure what to think.  It hadn’t taken much effort to remove the lid of his stone coffin, and the surrounding sight of innumerable other such coffins was rather unremarkable.  He just felt… numb.  What was happening?

Then the memories came in, one following another: his old quest, the ones he had lost, touching the Flame, and…

Heat.  Intense heat, then nothing.

Except it wasn’t nothing.  Sure, there was a blank portion, a void...

Had he been dreaming?  He thought perhaps he could recall something about... water...

And now… now he was back.

Why?

Had he not been through enough?  Were his countless deaths in his life before not enough for this world?  To have suffered so much, only to die a meaningless death as he burned in the First Flame, not fit even to be ash, and now to come back to life… Was this some cruel joke of the afterlife?

He rose from his grave, legs unsteady from years of inactivity (but not rotten, he noted.  His flesh was more whole than it had been when he was undead before) .  To his furthered surprise, he was still equipped with the armor and spear he had died with. The armor was that of a knight, and the spear was that strange thing with the stone head near the end.  A strange weapon, yet it had always seemed to fit nicely in his hands.  Exploring his surroundings revealed several hooded hollows and not much else.  He found his way to the shrine without much difficulty.  The inhabitants of the shrine were all very keen on telling him of his new duty, of how he was the Unkindled that was to gather the old Lords of Flame so that they may come here and reignite the First Flame.  To gather those that had succeeded where he had failed so that they might succeed again.

Something as hot as that Flame started to burn in him.  Devrim went outside and found some hollows to kill.  When they were gone, he found some more and killed them too.  His throat was hoarse when he finally collapsed to the ground.  He wondered if his helmet would fill with his tears and whether he would drown in them.

He threw himself off the cliffside.  He fell for several seconds through clouded air before dying, but he found himself at the familiar edge of a bonfire soon after.  He stabbed himself with his spear, but reappeared at the bonfire.  Everything he tried had the same result: bonfire, bonfire, bonfire…

The firekeeper had placed her hand on his shoulder, trying to console him.  "I know you are filled with much pain, Ashen One," she said.  "But the Dark is coming, and the Lords have abandoned their thrones.  You are the one who must gather them here, so that they may Link the Flame once more."

"I can't," he mumbled.  "I can't go through all that again..."

"You must have been strong," she said, taking a seat beside him on the steps outside the Shrine.  "To reach the Fire is not an easy task.  You can be strong again.  For the sake of every soul in this fading world, you must be."

And that, perhaps, was what he hated the most: she was right.  He didn’t want the Dark.  He knew the Age of Fire was preferable.  But for the Fire to be linked, he had to venture out.

And it all reeked of being so much like his last quest, but this time he didn't even get the dignity of being the "hero"; now, he was merely a glorified messenger boy.  Even still, the thought of all the death and suffering that awaited him made him want to find the darkest corner he could find and never leave it.  But no...  Dark was what he wanted to avoid.  This was bigger than himself.  The world would not fall into an Age of Darkness just because he didn’t want to have to fight.  He had to do this.  Not for himself, for them.  The people he didn’t know, couldn’t know, would never know.  They would want him to fight.

"I will go," he said, taking up his spear.  "I may curse the gods with every footfall for this cursed cycle they brought upon us, but I will fight for what I must."

And fight he did. Large or small, armored or no, he slew all in his path. No matter how many lives he took, his rage did not subside.


	2. Chapter 2

_Accept the fate of your ilk, and face the trials that await you._

Devrim carried on his murderous way until he met the warrior in the Undead Settlement. He spotted the man amidst a swarm of undead, but he cut them down with a massive broadsword. The warrior clutched at the souls that sprang from their corpses and despaired as they flew from his closed fist to Devrim's chest. The man flew upon Devrim, eyes wild. "I need those souls!" the warrior cried. Caught by surprise, Devrim could hardly defend himself before the warrior took off his head with his blade.

Devrim awoke at the bonfire and steadily made his way back, more cautiously now. The souls remained where he had died, sifting among his spilled blood, but so did the warrior. He clutched as the blood, at the souls, to no avail. They would not flow to the warrior, not like they did to the Unkindled.

The man's eyes cast up to Devrim as he approached. The madness was gone, replaced with despair. "You... the souls came to you. You are a chosen undead."

"Mere ash," Devrim corrected, kneeling and taking up his souls once more. "I seek the true Lords of the Flame to link the Fire."

"I would also see the Fire Linked. Perhaps I could assist you, if you would have me..."  The man clearly knew he was insane to ask such a thing of the undead he had killed not a few minutes before.

"You seek to link the Fire? You are not undead, the souls tell me that much. Why would you beset yourself with such a task?"

"I have my reasons," the warrior said firmly. "My name is Sarkis."

"And can I trust you, Sarkis, not to kill me again?"  Devrim said it with a small smile.  The killing had been a surprise, but... perhaps he could forgive the man.  He seemed genuine enough, and more in his right mind.

He was sure the the warrior blushed. "I do apologize for the rashness of my actions. I shall not take up my blade against youagain."

It was as good a word as any. "I am Devrim," the ashen one said. "Follow me, and perhaps we can keep this broken world alive another age."

The two of them made their way through the Undead Settlement, killing hollows here, Evangelists there.  Sarkis would occasionally spit upon the corpses of the latter.   _What did they do to him?_ Devrim had to wonder.

Regardless, Devrim was glad to have the man at his side.  Going through this place would have been much more difficult without someone to spot enemies he had not.

"You said you were not a chosen undead," Sarkis said between battles as they rested by a bonfire in a near-broken down hut.  "That you were mere ash.  What does that mean?  How are they different?"

"The people at the Shrine tell me the title changed because I am one who has attempted to Link the Fire before but failed," Devrim said.  He absentmindedly toyed with the tip of his spear.  "Do you know what that feels like?  To have worked so hard for so long towards a goal, only to be told that it was all for nothing..."

"Someone else must have completed the task, then," Sarkis said.

"After me, yes.  They were the true hero.  I was just a fool who wasted his time."

Sarkis opened his mouth, probably to respond with something he thought would be encouraging, but closed it again.  There was nothing to be said.  "What was it like?" he said instead.  "If you don't mind..."

"No no," Devrim reassured him.  "I've come to peace with it.  Linking the Fire before... It wasn't easy.  I gathered souls, great souls... I killed so many hollows and beasts.  Died myself countless times.  I arrived at the Kiln, fought my way to the Flame, and... nothing.  I fought all that way,  _burned alive_ , for nothing."

Sarkis was solemn.  He had to know that this journey they were on now was much the same as what Devrim had gone through.  "What kept you going?" the warrior asked.  "How could you be beset with so much hardship,  _die_ so much, and still fulfill your purpose?"

Devrim was silent for a moment.  Should he share all with this man?  Well, what did he have to lose?  Whether they succeeded or failed, Devrim probably wasn't making it out of this alive anyway.  "When the curse came, my family and I thought we would be safe," he said.  "Our city rounded up and pushed out the undead they could discover.  There was this... constant anxiety that one of us would be next.

"Then it started happening.  I was the first to turn.  My family, they tried to look on the bright side.  They went on about that old legend, the Chosen Undead, like you said.  I thought it was all nonsense.  I just wanted to stay alive, keep myself from going hollow.  But it got worse.

"My mother was next to go.  The constant fear of going hollow and worrying that others would turn, it got to her much more than it did me.  All her worrying couldn't save her from actually hollowing."

"I'm sorry," Sarkis said.  "I can't imagine losing a family member like that."

"Didn't stop there," Devrim said.  "I watched my whole family go the same way.  I... I waited until the last before I finally went on my journey.  I thought I was strong to go, to try to save what was left of the world.  The Flame didn't agree.

"When I was there, burning in the Flame of what should have been a resurgence of life, I just... I thought about them.  And I realized that if I succeeded, would all the others under the curse go back to normal?  If they did, that would mean that I could have saved my family, had I just gone when I first turned."

Sarkis' eyes took on a far off look.  "We have to succeed.   _You_ have to succeed.  I believe you can."

"I don't know of any other Unkindled, so... yes, I have to.  Or the world dies."

They sat by the bonfire for a long time in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

_Your journey is far from over._

Devrim and Sarkis kept up their travels.  Many undead fell and souls were gathered.  Hollows, evangelists, and demons alike were slain.  After felling the curse-rotted greatwood, Devrim and Sarkis found themselves on the Road of Sacrifices.  Sarkis seemed to become more grim than usual, yet more energetic.  He would break into short jogs before stopping and waiting for Devrim to follow, like a child itching to see some grand new wonder.  But Devrim saw no joy in Sarkis' eyes.

They came to a bonfire at a fork in the road.  Ahead lay a fetid bog, beyond which could be found the Abyss Watchers, or so Hawkwood had said.  Up the hill to the side stood an old cathedral, the final destination for those poor hollows who were forced down this forsaken road.

The two men sat in the light of the bonfire, the only light for their tired eyes.

“Which path will you take?” Sarkis asked.

“I plan to enter the bog,” Devrim said.  “The first Lord of Cinder is there--or Lords, rather-- and they must be taken to theShrine.”

Sarkis nodded.  “Then I fear we must part ways,” he said.  “I do wish to help you succeed in Linking the Fire, but... I have business with those in the cathedral.  Personal matters.”

Devrim nodded.  He wasn’t going to fight with Sarkis’ decision, but he had to admit that he could use help now more than ever.  “What business, if I may ask?”

Sarkis was silent for a long time.  Devrim staid silent too while he thought.  Finally, his friend had gathered his thoughts.  “My daughter is cursed, an undead.”

Devrim stiffened.  That’s why he’s here…?

“She just… collapsed one day, helping her mother in the field.  Her skin changed, her eyes went all white…

“It has gone on for so long… She first fell to it five years ago.  We hid her away, letting no one know of her condition.  With the Evangelists in our village, it was too dangerous for others to know.  We claimed she was sick, hoping that some new Chosen would reignite the Flame and the curse would disappear… but the time never came.  It went on.  We knew our neighbors would grow suspicious.  We had to… We had to pretend that she had died.”

A long silence.

“What kind of life is that for a little girl?" Sarkis said, beginning to softly weep.  "So many years of keeping your child stowed away in your home, unable to let them leave and be seen for fear of what those you call your friends will do to them.  That is the life my family has lived.  We have lived in fear, and those from the Cathedral are to blame.”

“Persecution of the undead is nothing new,” Devrim said.  “Many kingdoms over the ages have imprisoned, killed--”

Sarkis snorted.  “The Cathedral is not so simple.  Did you not see the bodies in the settlement we met in?  Stuffed into cages, strapped to wheels, taken to the Cathedral and sacrificed.  And of course, the teachings were so wide-spread.  Before, as you said, undead were persecuted, but it was so often propagated by those in power.  Kings of the land with a fearful vendettaagainst the accursed.  But the Cathedral had their Evangelists… They seed their ideas not just in the minds of rulers, but in the common people.  I would be lying if I said I did not follow their teachings at one time.  It is easy to be complicit with sacrifice when it happens to a stranger, but when it is your own daughter…”

Devrim hung his head.  “I understand.”

“I am sorry to leave you,” Sarkis said.  “But I cannot let them off without retribution for all the fear and suffering they have caused my family.  For my daughter… But when it is done, I will join you again.  The Fire must be Linked.  My daughter will feel the wind on her face again, sow the fields, play in the sun.  This… this is all for her."  He set off up the steps to the Cathedral, leaving Devrim to stare into the Flames alone.


	4. Chapter 4

_Life is brilliant. Beautiful. It enchants us, to the point of obsession._

Devrim trudged through the poisonous swamp on his own, cutting down those creatures that stood in his way.  He was alone, yes, but filled with new vigor.  Now was a chance to find to fight for a family.  Not his own, but a family all the same.  He hadn't saved his own, but he could save Sarkis'.  Yes, he had known others taken by the curse.

No one else deserved to be lost that curse.  Now that he thought back on it more, hadn't even that prophet who had claimed that Devrim was to be the Chosen Undead had fallen to its clutches?  Everyone had known of that prophet’s words, especially Devrim's family.  Their pleas to him as they slipped into madness still rang in his mind.  Link the Flame.  Save the land.  Save our souls.

Not again.  Even if the only one I can save if that man’s daughter, it is enough.

After skirting more creatures and a pair of men dressed as old Darkwraiths, he found himself face to face with the Abyss watchers.  Only one stood before him at first, but others appeared.  Devrim tried to reason with them, asking for them to return with him to the Shrine, to help link the Flame.

They were too busy trying to kill each other to listen to him.

Very well.  If they will not come willingly, they will come as ash.

Devrim joined the fray… and was cut down almost instantly. 

He awoke, as usual, by the bonfire.  He opened his eyes to the bright sunlight… and someone wearing a helmet.

“He’s awake!” a woman’s voice said.  “I told you he was fine, Horace.”

Devrim sat upright.  He reached for his spear, but it was set too far off for him to reach.  He scanned the area.  The woman had been above him, but there was also a bulky man bearing the armor of an executioner.  And… a pillow?  Yes, a soft cushion where his head had been lain.  Were these people enemies? But would enemies be trying to make him comfortable?  No, if they wanted him dead, he would already be gone.  He would’ve remembered dying again.

“Who are you?” Devrim asked, trying to force down his adrenaline.

“Oh!” the woman said, hand to her mouth.  “Yes, sorry.”  She flipped up her visor, revealing a charming young face framed with blonde hair.  It looked like she had tried to tuck the hair away in the helmet, but a few stray locks had slipped free.  “My name is Anri of Astora, and this is Horace.  We are undead like you, seeking Lords of Cinder.”

“You wish to face the Abyss Watchers?”

“That is the plan.  Horace and I hadn’t gotten quite that far yet, though.  We were resting here and you appeared.  We had to wait for you to wake, to see if you would aid us.”

Devrim laughed in disbelief.  “I am glad to find friends in this forsaken land.  I will gladly aid you in defeating the Watchers. Are you prepared to travel?”

Anri dropped her faceplate again and looked to Horace. Apparently seeing no discontent, she turned back to Devrim and said, “We are.”

Together, the three of them crossed the bog, fought their way through Farron Keep, and finally faced the old Watchers.  

And this time, Devrim was not alone.

Though the Watchers were many, they found their match in Devrim, Anri, and Horace.  They all fell, once proud warriors reduced to mere ash for kindling the First Flame.  The trio would carry on their mission in the catacombs below.


	5. Chapter 5

_Shackled by falsehoods, they yearn for love, unaware of itsgrand illusion._

In the dark catacombs of Carthus, Horace was lost.

Anri sat on a stone, head in her hands.  Shattered skeletons lay around her and her own sword lay discarded beside her.  “Where could he have gone?  He would not just leave me, would he?”

Devrim, kneeling beside her, had no answers.  Not for lack of knowledge, but for lack of courage.  He knew full well that Horace lay not far from them, at the bottom of this pit.  Horace had attacked Devrim when he had been found, the man seeming to have gone mad, and now Anri’s friend lay dead.  An act of self-defense, yes, but the guilt filled Devrim all the same.

Devrim placed his hand on Anri’s.  She squeezed his.

“We said we would do it together,” she said.  “We would slay Aldrich, the one who imprisoned us, who consumed all our friends… and now he’s gone.”

“He…” Devrim had to stop to gather himself.  “I’m sure he would not leave you.  He must have gotten lost.”

“I must go look for him then,” Anri said.

“But… Anri, you are so close to your goal.  Aldrich should not lie far beyond where we are now.  Horace would want you to fulfil your task, not get lost too.”

“If I leave now, I’m giving up on him.”  A near-silent sob racked her.  “I don’t want to leave him…”

“Anri, you have left every clue for him to follow you.  If he comes back, he could not possibly miss those prism stones.  If he lives, he will come to you.”  A bitter truth to conceal the lie.

Anri rose and picked up her sword.

After defeating the great High Lord Wolnir, Devrim and Anri found themselves overlooking the view of Irrithyl.  Its beauty was marred in Devrim’s mind by what he knew must surely await them.

But neither he nor Anri would allow their fear, nor their sorrow, to deter them.  Step by step, foe by foe, they fought a path from the bridge to the cathedral, and from the cathedral to the keep.  They found Pontiff Sulyvahnand proved his twin magics worthless against their blades.  One slash and stab after another, side by side and back to back, their fight was hard and long but ultimately, a victory.  Through it all, the stone head on Devrim’s spear grew more and more worn but remained firm.

The towering heights of Anor Londo awaited them next.


	6. Chapter 6

_How you grapple, without falter, with this dreadfully twisted world._

Even the old sun of Anor Londo, false though it may have been, would have been more welcome than the deep cold that greeted Devrim now.  The great ramparts and the Silver Knights that still stood guard over them were all as intimidating as they had been... whenever it was that Devrim had been here last.  Those memories were not some of his favorites.

"If Aldrich wasn't down below, perhaps he will be up there," Anri said, looking up the keep.  It seemed logical to Devrim; if Aldrich devoured gods, as everyone had said, then Anor Londo would be a fitting place to go.

To his eternal shame, Devrim found himself caught by more than one arrow on the way up the buttresses.  He was able to deflect most off of his shield, but one nearly took him over the edge.  Only Anri's firm grasp kept him from death (and a long journey back).

But they did indeed reach the steps up to the great hall of Anor Londo, only to be met by more Silver Knights.  They fell, just like their brethren below.

Devrim and Anri stood at the door.  Anri's grip tightened on the hilt of her sword.  "Aldrich must be inside," she said.  "Finally, he will be stopped...  I only wish Horace were here to see it done."

Devrim put a hand on her shoulder.  “He would want you to follow through with this, even if he isn’t here.”

She put a hand on the door and as she pushed in firmly, she said, “For Horace, and all the other lives that this monster’s existence has corrupted and taken!”

The great double doors swung open, and the Lord of Cinder awaited them: an oozing dark mass, the only human features belonging to the upper body that rose above the blob.  Was that… Gwyndoline?  Certainly, it was; the headpiece and garb were unmistakable.  Devrim knew that some had wanted Gwyndoline dead in the past, but this… this was worse than death.

Of course, it made no difference to him now.  He would deal with this monstrosity as he had with the Abyss Watchers; only death would be suitable to atone for the atrocities it had committed against Anri and those like her.  His spear flew, Anri’s sword fell.  At first, the ooze seemed to simply absorb the blows, but it did seem to be growing weary.  As Devrim paid closer attention, it seemed to be Anri’s blows that truly seemed to have any effect.  I can distract it, give her more openings, he decided.  And he did just that, making jabs and doing his best to stay in front of Aldrich, keeping its aggression focused on him and allowing Anri to strike many times in the back.

It did not take long for the Lord to fall.

The two Unkindled caught their breath.  “Thank you,” Anri breathed.  “I think… I think I must rest awhile.”

“Of course,” Devrim said.  Despite having just gone through an intense battle, his curiosity had been piqued by the sight of stacks of books and scrolls through a nearby door.  He entered the room and sat down.  What could these be?  He picked out one set apart from the others and read it:

 

_My thoughts dwell on the Fading Flame of late.  When I think long on the matter, my mind seems to act of its own accord… Visions come to me.  I see an Age beyond the Flame, filled with water.  A deep sea.  And there is more, but it is unclear.  It is all unlike either an Age of Fire or an Age of Dark.  Something else entirely.  I feel, more than truly know, that the gods of our time are not present._

_If my visions reveal the truth, then there is something beyond this never-ending cycle that Gwyn put us on so long ago.  And if that Age is absent of gods, then surely the gods must be removed._

_I will take it upon myself to remove them.  And the world will see a new Age._

_An Age of the Deep Sea._

 

Devrim’s mind reeled.  Could this be true?  Did Aldrich mean to suggest that there was a path beyond merely linking the Fire or allowing it to fade?  Was such a thing even possible?  Surely Aldrich had gone mad after all this time and these visions he spoke of were pure hallucinations.

Of course, Devrim's own dreams of late seemed to speak to the contrary.

But if it was true?  What would that mean for him and his quest?  An alternative to the endless cycle, this hated duty.

He left Anri to explore further.  She promised she would meet him back at Firelink Shrine.  On his way back through Irithyll to the dungeons he had passed before, his mind roiled with this new information.  If there was a way for him to break the cycle, should he not take it?  It would mean that no one else would be taken by the curse, no one would have to sacrifice themselves to the Flame.  It would save many future lives, spare so much suffering…  People could live normal life without fear of a Fading Flame.

Aldrich had written that it would be an Age without gods.  Devrim figured that was already his duty as well; Lords of Cinder could be considered gods as well as any who had come before.  He would just have to find a way to break the cycle, find that elusive third door.

For the sake of the future of this world, he had to.


	7. Chapter 7

_All men trust fully the illusion of life._   
_But is this so wrong?_   
_A construction, a facade, and yet…_   
_A world full of warmth and resplendence._

Devrim sat outside the Shrine, staring at the castle in the distance.  It held the final Lord he had to gather, Prince Lothric.  With his ashes, Devrim would finally have access to the Kiln.  Of course, he would have to look at the Grand Archives on hisway through the castle.  Perhaps they would hold some information on how to break the cycle as well.

He heard approaching footsteps from behind.  He turned to see Sarkis sitting down beside him.  “You’re back,” Devrim said.  “How was the cathedral?”

“Teeming with dark,” Sarkis said.  “It needed to be cleansed, regardless of my feelings toward it.  It is empty now.”  Sarkis’ bearded face took on a look of regret, something Devrim would not have expected of a man who had taken long-sought revenge.  “But I wonder… did they deserve it, truly?  Did they do what they did because of the Dark that resides within all men, or because of the taint of the Deep that lay in their own cathedral?  Was there another way to redeem them?”

“They did what they felt was right,” Devrim said.  “Whether it was really them or some other force doesn’t matter.  They acted upon it and must be judged accordingly.  Now no village need be in fear of the Evangelists or the fate of sacrifice ever again, right?”

Sarkis nodded but did not respond.

“There was a girl looking for you,” he said after some time.  “I overheard her talking to Ludleth earlier.”

“Anri!” Devrim said, jumping to his feet.  “She must have finally made it back.”  He hurried into the shrine and found the old Lord.

“She is already gone,” he said.  “Left just after your friend Sarkis arrived.  She said she would go to her old home.  I’m not sure where that is, but perhaps you may have an idea.  Oh, and she left this for you.”  Ludleth pulled a blade from beside his throne.  Anri’s sword.

Devrim took it.  Why would she leave this here?  And why not stay at the shrine?

“I have to go,” he said, strapping to the scabbard to his belt.

He traveled quickly to the front of the Cathedral of the Deep.  More groups of mindlessly worshipping hollows say in the dull grass, facing the cathedral.  “Anri!” he called.  No answer.  He started to ascend the steps.  His feet quickened as he caught the sound of a blade striking flesh around the next bend.  He turned the corner, shouting her name again, but his breath caught at what he saw.

Anri was there, and she was attacking a nearby hollow with nothing but a fractured sword in hand.  She overpowered the unarmed hollow easily, but her movements were erratic.  As the hollow fell to the ground, she leaped upon it, stabbing itrepeatedly with her broken blade.  Sickly red blood streamed around her and splattered onto her armor and helmet.  Whenshe finally stopped, she merely sat there, shoulders slumped.

“Anri,” Devrim said, slowly approaching his friend.  When he was no more than a few steps away, she finally turned to look at him.  She did not speak before launching herself at him.  The angry shouts she issued were undeniably hers, but belied her lack of sanity.

 _Hollow_.

Drawing Anri’s own true sword, Devrim batted aside her feeble attacks.  “Anri, stop this!” he shouted, but she continued.  “Please, come back to me!”  No response but more swipes of her sword.

_I cannot let her go on like this… She will hurt others, and she definitely wants to hurt me.  She wouldn't want this..._

With a strong swipe of his own, he batted aside Anri’s weapon.  As she stood in confusion, he thrust the sword into her side.  What little strength she had left seemed to leave her.  Devrim held her close and gently lowered her to the ground.  He pulled the blade from her and wished he hadn’t seen the blood gushing from her.  He tossed the sword aside and removed her helmet.  Her skin bore the rot of many deaths, but her beauty was still recognizable.  Her eyes rolled as her life faded, her breaths growing weaker.  Devrim cradled her and kissed her forehead.

And Anri died her final death.

Agry tears fell down Devrim's face.  He had only known her a few short days, but she had become precious to him.  She was so _strong._  She had kept on fighting, even when Horace, her treasured companion, had disappeared.  But now this?  No no no, she did not deserve this.  Perhaps others but not her.

All because of this damned curse.

He was still holding her when Sarkis arrived.  “They told me you rushed off,” he said.  “Didn’t seem like you, so I had to…  Oh.”  He stopped as he took in the situation.  “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“She did… everything she was supposed to,” Devrim said.  “But perhaps that’s the problem.  She accomplished her quest, and without all those she cared most for, she wanted to end it…  And then she was like them.  I couldn’t let her…”  He closed his eyes.

“Let us take her back to the shrine,” Sarkis suggested.  “We can bury her there, give her the honor she deserves.”

“No,” Devrim said.  “It is that shrine--that damned  _Flame_ \--that caused all this!  Anri wasn’t the only one.  It’s people like her, your daughter, my family…  They all fall to the curse, and the curse comes from the Flame.  It takes  _everything_.  I wish that it never existed.”

Sarkis knelt next to him.  “I know your hurt, Devrim.  As you said, my own daughter is taken by this curse, if not gone hollow yet.  But this is the hand we have been dealt.  The Flame is there, its influence unstoppable.  We have to fight to keep it lit, for when it thrives, so do the souls of mankind.  Let us journey on to link the Fire, so that even if we die, those who are cursednow may be saved.”

“Yes, of course,” Devrim spat, finally standing.  “Let us keep feeding the very thing that causes so much suffering.”

“And you would prefer the alternative?" Sarkis said, growing angry.  "The Dark?  That would only bring more suffering!”

Devrim nearly said all he knew about the Deep Sea, but how would Sarkis take it?  He couldn’t guarantee that current undead would survive if he followed through with this third Age.  Sarkis surely would not take kindly to that, but he needed his help.  Better to stay compliant for now with what everyone expected of him.

Sarkis returned to the shrine, but Devrim stayed to bury Anri’s body.  With her grave, he made a promise:  _I will break this cursed cycle so that no one else may have to suffer this fate.  With no Flame to Link, there will be no curse of the undead and no more hollows.  The world will be free._


	8. Chapter 8

_Are you intent on shattering the yoke, spoiling this wonderful falsehood?_

As Sarkis scouted ahead through the castle, Devrim took his time perusing the Grand Archives.  It took quite some time, but he was finally able to find some information on the First Flame.  Scholars over the centuries had compiled all available knowledge in numerous volumes, all collected here.  Devrim rifled through a few before one passage caught his attention:

 

_Throughout every experiment, my ultimate goal has been to cheat fate, to overcome the curse.  How can one surpass both Light and Dark, the seemingly all-encompassing forces of our world?  These make the order of our world.  To defy them is to defy the laws of the universe.  Yet that is exactly what I seek._

_It is also clear to me that this cycle has not always existed.  It all started when the old Lord of Light sacrificed himself, then bound humanity to the Flame, perpetuating this way of life forever.  There must be a way to return to how things were._

_But how?  Even one such as I, so well versed in the knowledge of that First Sin and the First Flame, can only guess at such things.  It is well known that if a sufficiently powerful undead’s body is consumed, the Flame regains its strength.  Alternatively, if it is left to flicker, it goes dim for some time, granting an Age of Dark, but ultimately calls forth the souls of man again, prompting another opportunity for an Age of Fire.  The cycle appears to be unbreakable._

_However, I can imagine a few scenarios that may have never happened before.  What, for example, would happen if the undead were to die while the Flame was consuming him?  Would the Flame become confused, so to speak?  Licking up and attaching itself to a life force that is slipping away, souls that are streaming more quickly than intended.  This is dependent on what I have proposed before, the idea that the Linker’s souls are meted out to the flame over time, giving great strength at first, but slowly growing weaker.  This is how Gwyn was able to sustain a fully active form near the Flame for so long.  If all that strength were to be burned up at once, what choice would the Flame have but_ to _flicker out prematurely?_

 _But who am I to say?  This is, of course, mere speculation.  Besides, the order is far too important to the people of this_ worldto _ever test the hypothesis._

 

The text diverted itself after that, winding off into thoughts about how Ages of Dark impacted successive Ages of Fire.  This wasn’t much, but it was all Devrim had to go on.  It also solidified the idea of a third Age; Aldrich had not been the first to conceive of one, though this author was clearly of a more scholarly nature.

But if it was true, Devrim would have to die. _That’s what_ I’m headed _towards anyway,_  he thought.  He wouldn’t be able to see whatever came after, but it wasn’t about him.  It was about everyone else, everyone that would come after.

Sarkis found him soon after.  “The princes are just up ahead, and I’ve cleared the path.  Let’s finish this.”

With the fury of men with purpose, they did.


	9. Chapter 9

_What do you want, truly?_ _Light? Dark? Or something else entirely…_

“This is it, then?” Sarkis said.  He gazed up the winding path that led to what must be the Kiln of the First Flame.  The path they stood on was raised above a chaotic gathering of buildings that appeared to have been drawn from innumerable lands and cultures across the world.

“Yes,” Devrim replied.  “It ends here, with whatever awaits us.”

They stood finally at the fog gate and looked to each other.  “For Anri,” Sarkis said.

“And for your family,” Devrim lied.

And they entered the fog.

The being that awaited them was unlike any Devrim had before encountered.  A warrior--a  _soul_ \--that changed not only the way it fought but what it fought with, its twisted blade transforming into a spear, a stave, and back again.  It spouted flames across the battlefield, but Devrim and Sarkis were practiced warriors.  They would not have made it this far if they could not handle a foe such as this.

The Soul of Cinder fell.

Devrim spotted the small, lingering Fire that flickered near the center of the Kiln, their makeshift arena.  He felt Sarkis’ hand on his shoulder.  “I hope it is painless,” his friend said.  “But I thank you for what you are about to do.”

He still thought… But Devrim couldn’t.  He could not follow through with what Sarkis wanted of him.  Would his comapnion's daughter die?  Must one so young and innocent die, along with countless others, to save the futures of so many more?

Devrim stepped forward and shoved the head of his spear into the ground.  The stone head near its tip was deeply scarred and seemed near the breaking point, but held firm.  He put a hand to the Flame, not yet taking it up.  Now... Perhaps now was the time for honesty. 

“Sarkis,” he said without facing the man.  “I am going to destroy the Fire.”

Sarkis said nothing for a moment, then chuckled.  “Jokes are all well and good, my friend, but I think now is not the time.  The world is waiting for this, for souls to flourish anew!”

“No,” Devrim said with solemnity.  “The cycle of Fire must end, and I will be the one to kill it.  No one will ever fall to this curse again.”

Sarkis’ countenance darkened.  “So you will not take up the Fire?”

“No one ever will, if I am successful.”

“You are mad,” Sarkis grumbled.  “The linking of the Fire is how it has always been and always will be!  Stop this insanity and take up the Flame, man!”

“You are wrong,” Devrim said.  His outstretched hand trembled.  “There is another path, one where humanity can be free.”

“Even if such a thing were possible, how can you be sure it would be better than what we have now?  Yes, the curse is terrible, but the life we have between it is fine enough, is it not?  That is all I ask of you, Devrim.  A return to that life, for me and those I love.”

“I am sorry,” Devrim said, "but I must go through with this.  This is bigger than you or me."

“I see,” Sarkis said.  Devrim heard him unsheath his greatsword.  “Then it seems I must find a more suitable Unkindled, one who is not a traitor.”

Devrim turned, pulling his spear from the ground and blocked Sarkis’ swipe.  He let the force of the blow push him back and he fell to the ground.

He felt the First Flame lick at his back and latch on to his flesh.  Devrim’s heart sped up.  The clock was ticking.

Sarkis howled at the sight of the Flame and continued attacking.  Devrim directed all his energy to defense, deftly warding Sarkis’ heavy attacks with the body of his spear.  The metal shook with each blow.   _Do I let him kill me?  Or must I do it myself?_

“I will see my daughter again!” Sarkis shouted, punctuating his words with heavy swings of his blade.

“I fight for the daughters and sons of the future, Sarkis!” Devrim said, breathing growing labored.  The Fire consuming his torso seemed to be sapping his strength.  It was getting harded to fight, even harder to speak.  “Let me save them.”

Sarkis only grew more enraged.  With a single powerful swipe, he knocked Devrim’s spear from his hands.  A swift kick sent the Unkindled flying onto his back once again.

Sarkis paused a moment, then tossed aside his sword and picked up Devrim’s fallen weapon.  He approached the fallen undead, spear raised.  “May it be painless,” he said as he poised the point of the spear over Devrim’s chest.  “And may the Fire be free from your clutches!”

Devrim nearly laughed at the irony as his fate overtook him.

The spear penetrated his chest, its tip burying itself in the soil and ash beneath.  Devrim felt life leaving him, but the many great souls he carried left faster.  Not only the weak souls of hollows, but the souls of the many Lords of Cinder.  All flowed out in one moment, and the First Flame caught every one.  It roared brighter than it had in eons.  Devrim screamed in agony as it burned around him.

Sarkis staggered back, avoiding the intense heat.  “What is this?!” he asked.

As the Flame burned, the stone on the spear finally cracked and gave way.  It fell in two halves, revealing unmarred steel beneath.  Though the stone was battered and lay broken, the spear was as perfect as the day it had been made.  Devrim’s fading eyes wandered its length.  It was a strangely beautiful sight, something so perfect…

The Fire went out.

Devrim lay his head back on the ash.  He felt that his time was very short.  “It is done,” he said with a weak smile.  “The First Flame is no more.”

Sarkis fell to his knees and wept.  He shouted the name of his daughter into the air, into the ash, into his weary hands.

Rain began to fall.  And the rain mingled with Devrim’s pooling blood on the ashen ground.

As Devrim’s mind floated, his vision swam and the images of the world around him were replaced with those of a strange new one.  He saw the deep sea that Aldrich had spoken of.  Yet when Devrim looked on the sea, it did not feel like a symbol of freedom, but like a barrier.

The rain continued to fall.

Beyond the sea, Devrim saw men.  Men and beasts.  Men who became beasts.

The rain turned red.

And beyond the beasts, eyes.

Many, many eyes.

And Devrim began to wonder if he had made a mistake.

Sarkis glared at Devrim’s body.  “You have doomed us,” he said.  “You have taken the lives of many now.  And if what you spoke is true… How many more will die in this new order you bring upon us?  Perhaps I should be glad if my daughter is indeed taken by your hand, for she may not witness whatever chaos you bring to us.”

And he left the body of the fallen Unkindled, the spear still protruding from his chest.

With Devrim's death, one cycle ended.

And with Devrim's death, another began.

_I sought to shed the yoke of fate, but failed._


	10. Chapter 10

_A bottomless curse,_

_A bottomless sea,_

_Accepting of all that there is_

_And can be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, there you have it. Just thought I'd add this quote at the end because, you know, it's cool and I needed some more Bloodborne.  
> I hope you liked the story, at least in some capacity. I do have problems with it myself. My characters feel pretty... Flat, I suppose. Not much personality. That's a tough point for me.  
> Anyway, I'd always love to you hear your thoughts. Love it? Hate it? Want to offer healthy and constructive criticism? Let me know!  
> As always, thanks for reading.
> 
> ~Kookie


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